At Long Last
by SSAEmilyHotchner
Summary: Oneshot. It has been half a year since they last saw each other. Ian Doyle is dead, but Emily is in the wind. Will she come back home? And will her loved ones take her back? Written for SussiRay's prompt, "reunion." H/P.


**Author's Note: Written for the ever-so-lovely SussiRay; if you haven't read her stories, you're really missing out. She's incredible! Prompt - 'REUNION'. Post-Lauren (6x18), set about half a year after Emily 'dies.' Hope you enjoy, and remember: reviews are sincerely appreciated! THANK YOU in advance. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters. Cue the sad music.**

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><p>Five months. It had been five months since anyone had heard a word about her. Until now.<p>

Ian Doyle was dead. But Emily…

Gone, the reports said. Missing. In the wind.

Possibly dead. It was a thought in everyone's heads, yet no one dared to say it aloud.

Knocking back his fourth tumbler of bourbon and contemplating a fifth, Aaron Hotchner fell onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, his eyes eventually falling closed as the alcohol mated with his blood. His body was almost completely numb, his mind almost completely blank. _Almost_.

It was then that she wandered into his thoughts once more. He clenched his fists around the duvet in a means of blocking out the pain, but it made things worse; in his mind's eye, he could see her moving beneath him, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed…_her_ fists clenching around the high thread count sheets as she fought to keep her orgasm at bay…he could practically hear someone tapping on the door, feel her arms wrapping securely around his waist to keep him from answering it…

Strangely, the tapping noise continued, long enough for him to realize that it was no longer in his thoughts; someone was really at the door.

"What the hell…?" Hotch muttered, walking towards the sound in a half dazed state. Looking through the peephole, he felt his breathing become shallow, felt his heart stop beating. "No. It can't be."

In a flurry of opening locks and disarming alarms, he let the door swing open, revealing the slender figure leaning against the doorframe.

_It was._

"Emily," he breathed.

He watched as her lips, those very same lips that he had yearned for for months, curved into a timid half smile. "Hi, Aaron."

His head spun as she said his name. "Y – you…" He cleared his throat, shock robbing him of the ability to speak.

"Can I come in?" she asked softly.

He nodded, moving aside slowly. Once all the locks were back in place, he turned to her. "You're here," he said in disbelief, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I am." Her downcast lashes made shadows dance across her cheekbones.

"How?" he rambled. "They said that…that you were missing. They said Doyle was dead –"

"I killed him." Her tone held a bruising finality.

Their eyes finally met. "I know."

Hotch took a minute to fully look at her. Her hair, still the same gorgeous shade, was longer than he had ever seen it, falling three or four inches off her shoulders in a series of fiery reddish-brown waves. She was thin; not just thinner, but _thin_. Like she hadn't eaten a real meal in months.

Which she probably hadn't.

Her nails were worried away to short stubs, but they had been for a while. He was admiring the shapely slope of her nose when she spoke again.

"I hope I'm not imposing."

"No…no, you're not," he assured. Then, he let out a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "How are you?"

"I'm…coping." Her choice of words brought to mind yet another tender subject. "I assume the team thinks I'm dead."

"They buried you," he said in return.

She closed her eyes. "Are they okay?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"They don't stare at your empty desk or your portrait on the wall for as long as they used to," he said carefully. "They're just beginning to adjust; they miss you."

"And you?" When she sought his gaze once more, he saw in her eyes a shyness and innocence so powerful and so…_uncharacteristic _that it shook him to his core.

"I stood by them and told them that you were gone. I helped them grieve while inside…I was grieving, too." He reached forward and cupped her cheek tentatively. "I loved you."

"'Loved'?" Emily asked, her voice wavering as she noted the past tense.

"I still do," he finally confessed. Then, after a beat of silence, "But do you know how large a burden it was to keep your secret from them at all costs, to look them in the eyes and lie, to…" His hand fell to his side, causing her skin to burn at the loss of contact. "To wake up each morning, not being able to help you, not knowing where you were, not knowing if Doyle had you…if you were being tortured, or if you were even alive. It changed me," he rasped, his voice worn.

"You've been drinking," she gasped, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.

"It changed me," he repeated gravely.

"I'm so sorry," she choked out.

He slumped into a chair, shaking his head at her apology. "How did you find me?"

It was a while before she answered. "I – I followed you. From Michigan," she disclosed, almost ashamed at what she had done.

"Michigan? That's where we had our last case," he said incredulously. "You were there?"

She nodded. "Two cars behind, one to the left." She couldn't help but add; "Like a spy."

Suddenly, Hotch was enraged. "Emily, do you have any idea how incredibly reckless, how incredibly _risky_ that was? You could have –"

It was then that she snapped, her composure dissolving as his outburst caused her to lose her already-weak hold on control. "Don't you _dare_ talk to me about risks," she yelled back. "I haven't slept in five months, no, not when I have to keep one eye open all the time. I couldn't trust anyone I came into contact with. So, I searched for Doyle alone. And when I finally found the bastard…" She took in a heaving breath. "Something inside me broke loose. I killed him with my bare hands," she whispered, body trembling at the memory. "I felt the life leave his body. Then I shot his guards, stole one of their cars, and ran." When she spoke again, it was in a voice neither of them recognized. "You think you've changed. You haven't even seen half of what I have, Aaron. Don't pretend you have."

"I'm not," he protested, moving closer to her unconsciously.

She ignored him. "I had my sources and I found out where you were. Tracked you to –"

"Your _sources_? What the hell are you –"

"_Stop it!"_ Of their own volition, tears flowed down her cheeks. "I can't even finish a sentence without you interrupting me, damn it!" Steadying herself, she continued solemnly, "Every single time I closed my eyes, all I could think of was if the team would forgive me. If they would accept me back. And every night…" She paused, openly sobbing now. "Every night, I imagined you lying beside me, telling me everything would be okay. But look at you now." Furiously wiping away tears, she said, "I could have gone to JJ's place, but I didn't. Why? Because I thought you, of all people, would understand. I came to you first because I wanted so desperately to see the man I love." She shook her head. "I don't have a home to go to. I don't have clean clothes, or food, or a single penny to my name. But I have my pride." Her cold, haunted brown-eyed gaze locked onto his. "I'm not going to beg you to take me back, Aaron." Then, "I guess I was just wrong about you."

Emily was halfway to his door when she felt his hand on her elbow, his other arm reaching past her to hold it closed. "Stop."

"Don't," she managed, knowing she was seconds away from breaking.

Turning her to face him, Hotch backed her up against the hard wall behind her. "No, Emily. I'm never letting you out of my sight again," he said huskily. God, he felt stupid. She had suffered for half a year, and instead of providing her the solace she needed, he had yelled at her. Argued, when in reality, all he wanted to do was touch her, comfort her…keep her safe.

So he did. Before he could weigh the consequences, he was diminishing the space between them and covering her mouth with his. Sweeping his tongue along her bottom lip, he silently pleaded for entrance, his thumb stroking patterns along the back of her neck.

After an eternity, she obliged and opened herself up to him, her breath ghosting along his cheek and her quiet whimper of submission molding together with his moan of approval. Her tongue danced hesitantly with his before she said, her voice raw and ragged, "Don't do this out of pity. Please."

"When have you ever known me to do things out of pity?" he asked her, as he broke the kiss and moved his lips to her ear.

The action was enough to unravel her, a quiet so wracking her shoulders in result. "I've missed you. _So_ much."

Eyes burning, Hotch pulled her as close to him as possible. "I missed you more." At her disbelieving expression, he rested his forehead against hers. "I thought I could drink away the pain, the loss, th – the emptiness," he explained, shaking his head violently. "It didn't work. Then you show up on my doorstep…" He pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw. "It was too good to be true. I've had so many dreams that start out this way, but the moment I reach out to touch you…you disappear. Like a mirage," he whispered hoarsely. "Like a shadow." His knees went weak, and for a second she was the one supporting him. "I'm so sorry, Emily…so sorry…"

Emily silenced him with a kiss full of desperation and long-denied desire, releasing a shuddering sigh as his fingers threaded through her hair, his other hand coming to rest on her hip. It was then that she surrendered, her heart pounding wildly against her chest as her loud groan was swallowed by his needy lips.

"Let me love you," she heard him plead.

His dark, _smoldering_ visage was enough to seduce her into a yes, and before either could register the other's actions, he was carrying her to his dimly lit bedroom, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

~.~.~

With a patience and control that surprised even him, Hotch deliberately undid each and every button on her dark green blouse, the cool plastic disks slipping against his gun-coarse fingers. Letting the garment slide off her arms and onto the floor, he turned his attention to her breasts, the two perfect mounds caged in simple – almost virginal – black lace. Peppering kisses down her ample cleavage, he smiled as her chest heaved and her nipples hardened into throbbing, aching peaks through her bra.

"Aaron…"

"Shhh." His hands travelled to her back, fingering the clasp that was keeping him from ivory perfection. "Can I?" he asked, giving her room for protest.

Emily nodded, a moan being torn from her throat as he indulged, his lips shaping around a hypersensitized dusky rose bud. She regretted her decision, however, as soon as he found the four-leaf clover on the hill of her left breast.

"Stop." The word fell from her lips as he drew his fingers over the brand. _"Stop."_

"Emily. Look at me." When she did, he could see everything she wasn't saying, everything he had only suspected was in her heart. "This scar…" he kissed it, gently pushing her hands away as she tried to hide it, "and this one…" he trailed his tongue along the faded gash on her side, "and all the others? They're nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing he did to you makes you any less beautiful. Any less perfect," he delivered with conviction.

And because she so desperately wanted – _needed _– his words to be true, she believed him.

She lifted her hips as he undid her jeans and slid them off, leaving her in nothing but her panties. Just as she was about to voice her building need for him, he climbed off the bed and kneeled at the foot of it, his gaze burning and _so_ intense as he pulled her towards him. A surge of white-hot anticipation rocketed through her body, eventually pooling between her thighs. She could hardly breathe as his fingers scorched a path from hip bone to hip bone, as her panties joined the rest of her clothes on the floor, as he inched closer…and closer…

Emily swore her bones had melted when he gave her the most intimate of kisses, when he finally put his lips around her clit, worshipping the little bundle of nerves with every keen stroke of his tongue.

Still continuing the wicked assault between her thighs, he slid his hands beneath her until they were cupping her ass and lifted her for better access. "God, you're beautiful," he praised, looking up at her with heavy-lidded eyes and seeing nothing short of a goddess. Her head was thrown back, her hair cascading down her shoulders to caress her breasts, her nipples beckoning. For him. She was breathing fast, a flush of arousal coloring her cheeks and neck. "Beautiful," he said again.

Emily couldn't control the scream welling in her throat as she felt him enter her with his tongue. "Please…please…" she cried, her long legs wrapping around his shoulders, her toned thighs locking him in a vice. She thrashed beneath his attentions, the pressure within her building. Building. A searing, brilliant promise hovering just beyond reach.

"Please what?" Hotch teased, somehow finding the strength to withdraw his tongue from her sweet silken folds.

"_No!"_ she wailed at the loss, moving farther down the bed in search of his heavenly touch. "I need you, Aaron. _Now_," she sobbed.

"Like this?" he murmured, torturously inserting two fingers into her depths. "Or this?" he asked, adding one more and biting back his growl as her muscles clenched firmly around him.

She answered him by rocking her hips in time to each thrust, then by blindly grabbing the headboard as his talented tongue came back into play, flicking her clit at an astounding pace.

"Ohhh, Aaron…I'm going to – _yes!"_ she yelled incoherently, her body arching like a bow as he gently bit her pulsating nub, the erotic sensation throwing her head-first into a violent orgasm and robbing her of her sanity.

She barely heard him praising her flavor, barely felt him devouring her, gathering up her juices, barely saw him lick his fingers, then his lips, before he was hovering over her once more, cupping her face in his large palms. "Are you okay?"

"More than okay," she assured. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, a sensual lethargy shimmering in the two pools that made his heart ache for her. Made him want her all the more. "Take off your shirt," she whispered.

"Emily, you don't have to do this if you're not ready –"

"I've waited for this for six months," she told him, grasping the cool cotton desperately. "Please…don't make me wait any longer."

He didn't. Stripping off his light blue dress shirt, his hand moved to undo his belt. Emily's soft hand on his stopped him, though.

"Let me."

Having been left with no room for argument, Hotch watched as she deftly undid the buckle, her other hand running along his hard, sharply-planed chest. Before he knew it, he was lying beside her, clad only in his boxers. He gasped in pleasure as slim fingers crept below the waistband and wrapped around him, dancing along his protruding erection and ghosting against his swollen head.

As she removed the final garment, she said breathlessly, "I almost forgot how beautiful you are." His cock jutted towards her, huge and thick and ready.

"Emily," he said tightly, shutting his eyes as she moved on top of him. "Let me love you," he repeated.

"You already have," she answered gently, tenderly. "Let me love_ you_, Aaron."

And then she was sinking down on him, the simple action stealing his breath and causing stars to invade his vision. They both groaned as he delivered a final push, causing himself to be buried to his hilt in her tight, searing heat. "It's been too long," he cried into her shoulder.

"But we're here now," she muttered against his cheek, her fingers massaging his scalp soothingly.

"Thank God," he managed, before claiming her lips in a passionate kiss and swallowing her gasp as he began to move within her svelte body.

With each inward thrust, Emily pushed down further, pleasure radiating inside her from head to toe at the brilliant sensation. She couldn't suppress the satisfied moan that left her as they continued to dance together, stretching muscles she hadn't used in a lifetime and setting her blood afire.

"I love you, Emily Prentiss," Hotch choked out. "I love you, I love you, I love you..." he chanted in her ear, each exclamation followed by a glorious, steamy stroke.

Her breath came out in pants as he took a breast into his mouth, biting, nibbling, lavishing, marking. She was sure she would pass out when he did the same to its twin.

But onward they continued. His hands burned the skin on her thighs where they were resting, his cock drove deep into her, teasing super sensitive nerves she didn't even know existed, and still, his chant continued.

"I love you, I love you, I love you…"

Catching her off guard, Hotch wrestled her onto her back as she hurtled towards the coveted peak. "Say it, Emily," he begged, unshed tears corrupting his voice, making it husky, hoarse. His eyes were wild. "I have to hear you say it."

Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly, pulling him as close to her as possible. "I love y – oh! _Aaron!"_ It was then that she shattered, crying out as unadulterated pleasure exploded within her.

"Emily," Hotch groaned, his teeth nipping at the tender hollow where her neck and shoulder met. He buried himself in her shaking body, grinding against her as he found his own blissful release. He held her to him until his tremors finally eased. "_Emily_."

For a long, lovely moment, they held each other. Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her with such tenderness that it made her heart weep. "I love you, Aaron," she said against his lips. "I love you so much."

A lone tear slid down his cheek and into her hair. "You're safe now," he whispered, his hand shaking as he laced their fingers together and kissed her knuckles one by one.

She moved their intertwined hands to his heart. "Don't ever let me go," she choked out, her heart clenching as his free arm wrapped around her waist protectively.

He nuzzled her neck gently, pressing whisper-soft kisses here and there. "I won't," he promised.

And he never did.

****THE END.****

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Reviews are love. Please drop me a line and tell me what you think! No account needed!<strong>


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